All we do is make fireworks.
Here, like us,
for a moment.
Gone after a few
flutters of lashes.
Our hearts may be in it
all effort thrown forth.
But our hearts, our efforts
are weak, short-lasting.
The burst of light,
thunder-like boom,
a moment of wonder,
beauty that fizzles out,
darkens,
drops.
Such great work,
resulting from hours of effort,
magnificent, awe-inspiring,
reduced to ash, dust, dirt.
But the stars.
If our work could only be
twinkling lights that shine for years,
not moving in the sky,
reliable, always,
lasting longer than we can dream.
If our hearts, our efforts would produce
stars, then we’d
be in a better place.
We’d affect change,
shine light not for a moment,
but for millions.
We wouldn’t need to train others
to build what we’ve built,
do what we do, because
what we’ve built,
what we’ve done
will always be there
for them to see.
“Look at that star,” we’d say,
pointing at a speck near the Big Dipper’s handle.
“That’s the light I created.
What will you create?”
But permanence leaves
no room for mistakes.
What’s done is done.
Your star will shine or
explode into a black hole that
sucks others in, wreaks destruction.
Permanent mistakes bring
permanent consequences,
no hope of salvation.
Stars may last, but
the brief sparks of fireworks are
quickly forgotten
amid thousands of other light explosions.
All we do is make fireworks,
but with our mistake-heavy efforts,
our easily-confused hearts,
a flash of light that soon disappears
may be a better result than
man-made stars.
Meredith Sell 